


A Quiet Life

by FringeSlayer



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookshop, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Meet-Cute, cute af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-17 13:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9327125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FringeSlayer/pseuds/FringeSlayer
Summary: Clara Oswin Oswald lived a quiet life in a very quiet bookshop on a quiet street.  And then she met a quiet man, a Doctor of some sort, and her quiet life grew complicated.  A quiet love story.





	1. The First

Clara Oswin Oswald lived a quiet life. 

She couldn’t say how many other twenty-seven year olds would be content with a quiet life in a dingy flat above a book shop, but it suited her just nicely. After the tedium of a loud life shared with her loud-living ex-boyfriend John, a complete change of pace had seemed necessary. He hadn’t been too bothered, if his ongoing affair with the head of their department was anything to go by. 

After a desperate phone conversation with best friend Donna Noble, (the owner of said book shop and flat) a deal was made. If Clara agreed to fill the vacancy left by Donna’s previous tenant, Donna would give her a job in her cozy little book shop. The pay cut would be severe, but her meagre salary would be enough to support her quiet new life. So Clara agreed.

Leaving John with the flat, her workplace, and her dismal heart, Clara packed up and moved her life to the dingy little flat above the cozy little book shop. And life was quiet.

For a very little while.

“Oy Clara! Get your arse down here, you dozy cow! I need someone to man the till while I have a wazz.”

Clara sighed deeply and rolled over onto her back. Sparing a glance at the discarded watch sitting on her bedside table she groaned. Sluggishly she stood out of bed and opened the solid door to her flat, chips of paint flaking off of it softly. 

“Donna, it’s 5 o’clock in the bloody morning. We don’t open for another three hours.”

“Couldn’t sleep, could I?” shouted Donna from the bottom of the stairs. “Opening early today, I think. Hurry up and get down here, Clara. I might piss me-self.” 

“Alright. Give me a couple minutes, yeah? I doubt you want me down there in my knickers.”

There was no response from Donna downstairs. “Lovely,” muttered Clara darkly. Throwing on a raggedy jumper and a pair of jeans she hurried downstairs. The Bookish Companion was not a particularly popular shop, nor was it particularly pretty. But what it lacked in customers and decor, it more than made up for in charm. Books towered precariously in stacks throughout the shop. The walls were lined with dark wooden bookcases filled with more books. And underneath the three tiny tables set up as a sort of cafe— even more books.

The street was dark outside and the hour was ungodly. Stifling a yawn, Clara rested her elbow on the counter and promptly knocked off a stack of leather-bound Dickens novels. With an unladylike groan she bent down to retrieve them. As she stood up, looking wild, arms full of books, she came face to face with a tall thin man with curly greying hair and hard eyebrows. He was wearing a black hoodie under a black coat. She jumped a little and dropped several of the books. The man did nothing, simply looked at her. Clara noticed his eyes would have been a nice shade of blue if he didn’t look so cross. 

“Hiya! Are you looking for something? I can help you. Or, I could get Donna. I’m not exactly… Well, I just sort of help out. Donna owns the place. Although I love books. I’m sure you do too. Blimey it’s early!” Clara closed her mouth with a frown. The man looked at her slightly bemused. “Sorry, I’m…” she cleared her throat, “blabbering.” 

“Well fuck me,” said Donna returning from the back. “You’re early!” she said to the tall man with the owlish face. “Just a mo. Let me get your bag.” Coming behind the counter, Donna reached for a tote bag filled with books. Dropping it heavily on the counter she glared disapprovingly at the mess Clara had made. “Blimey, Clara, you’re supposed to be cleaning up the shop not dismantling it. Off to bed, yeah? Get that beauty sleep you desperately need. That’ll be thirty pounds even, Doctor.”

Clara felt eyes on her and looked up to see the man looking at her. Glancing away quickly he laid the money on the counter and then quickly exited the shop with long strides.

“Charming,” said Donna sarcastically. “Orders like ten cheap paperbacks every week and barely says two words to me. He’s collecting that sci-fi serial TARDIS? He’s a physics doctor or something like that.”

“Right. Night then,” said Clara wearily. “I’ll clean the shop when I wake up.” Trudging up the stairs she heard Donna shout after her, “I’ll look forward to noon then!”

Falling into her creaky twin bed and climbing under her duvet, she fell into a rest the likes of which she hadn’t had since she was a little girl.


	2. The Second

Awake.

Rolling over Clara noticed that the sun was blazing into her bedroom window. ‘So much for rainy old Cardiff,’ she thought with a muffled groan. Propping herself up on her elbows, she reached for the watch on her dresser.

11:15 AM

“Fuuuuck,” she said throwing back the duvet and springing to life. She was sure that when Donna mentioned seeing her at midday she had not meant it literally.

Throwing on a button-up blouse and her favorite skirt, she bounded down the stairs into the shop. Second day on the job and already she had a penchant for tardiness.

“Donna, I am so sorry. I overslept and it’s just so quiet here and I’m only used to sleeping four hours because my last apartment was bizarrely loud and—“

“It’s alright, Clara. Didn’t even notice you weren’t here to be honest.”

Donna was leaned up against the counter leafing through a copy of ‘OK! Magazine’

“Really?” said Clara.

“No, of course not. I was bored out of my mind, wasn’t I? Now, you’re here let’s chat. I’m dying for some good gossip.”

Clara laughed. “Afraid I don’t know any.”

“Ooh, not even the one about the prickish lout who was sleeping with the head of his department and didn’t even tell his girlfriend?”

The smile dropped off Clara’s face. The bell above the shop door tinkled as it opened. Clara looked down at the counter. Donna quickly realized her error and placed a hand on Clara’s back.

“Oh God. I’ve gone and stepped in it. Too soon, yeah? I’m really sorry. You can publicly shame me if you like.” 

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve gotta get over it sometime,” replied Clara smiling weakly. There was a small scuffle as a pile of books was knocked off a table. 

“Ah, Doctor! Back so soon?” sang Donna.

Clara looked up and noticed the stern looking man from before crouching down to pick up the books he had displaced. He glanced up at Donna, his eyes flicking to Clara and said nothing. Putting the books back on the table he turned swiftly and headed straight for the small science fiction section.

“All yours my dear,” said Donna throwing up her hands in frustration. “There’s a muffin and a coffee for you there. I’m going to take my lunch break, if you’re up for it?”

“Yeah, of course! All good here,” said Clara grossly overcompensating. 

“You sure? Cuz you’re not fooling me, Clara Oswald. I will happily cancel with David if you need a cuddle.”

“Well, you didn’t say you were going out with David!” Clara gasped playfully.

“Left out that bit, didn’t I?” said Donna coyly.

“Please tell me everything in great detail. What happened?”

“Well, he asked if I wanted to go to lunch and I said ‘Yes’. There now you know everything.”

Clara groaned. “You are the most frustrating person I’ve ever had the misfortune to know. Can’t I live vicariously just this once?”

“I’ll give you details later over a bottle of Chardonnay. I swear. For now, I’m off.”

Donna departed with another tinkling of the bell and a slam of the front door. The shop was quiet. Clara glanced over at the Doctor, and saw that he had his head buried in a book. His gray curls were tousled and whatever he was reading was making him scowl profoundly. He seemed to feel Clara staring at him and glanced up from the book to look back at her.

Embarrassed Clara turned away to get her muffin and coffee.

When her muffin was gone and she was nearing the end of her coffee, Clara realized that she and the Doctor had been together for an hour and not said a word. It wasn't a stifling silence, nor was it an awkward one, but she felt the need to exercise her underused social skills. The only person she’d even seen in the last couple weeks was Donna. So she picked up a rag, some cleaner, and with the pretense of cleaning the shop, walked over to attempt conversation.

She made for the dusty window he was standing by. When she passed by he didn’t even glance up. Clara let out a small sigh. Clearly, he wouldn’t be the one to begin talking. She sprayed the cleaner on the window and set to work scrubbing.

“So, what are you a Doctor of?”

He looked up from his book very slowly, as if he wasn’t sure she was speaking to him. Seeing her staring at him expectantly he cleared his throat a little and shifted his feet.

“Sorry?” he said quietly. He was surprisingly Scottish.

“What are you a Doctor of?” repeated Clara feeling increasingly awkward. 

He looked back down at the book, furrowed his brow, and looked extremely ill at ease. Clara got the impression that he was unused to being spoken to.

“I— um… why?” he muttered.

“People call you the Doctor right? So, you’re probably a Doctor of something.” Clara let out a nervous laugh. He stared at her for a long moment with a bemused expression.

“Well… Astrophysics.”

“Oh, cool. Like, space and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“That’s so fascinating. I’ve never met an astrophysicist before. I mean, you hear about them in movies. They’re always made out to be like these incredible geniuses. I suppose it must be nice, studying the stars? That’s a nice calling. I’m an English teacher. I mean, I was before I quit. My boyfriend John, ex-boyfriend, used to tell me how incredibly boring that is. ‘Everyone can read, Clara!’ But he didn’t get how magical reading is. How transportive. All of time and space in a little book.”

The Doctor was staring at her. Clara took a deep breath.

“What book are you looking at?”

He reluctantly showed her the cover. 

“The Angels Take Manhattan. Ah, Amy Pond. So, you’re something of a romantic then, Doctor?” she teased lightly.

He fidgeted and seemed to be considering his words. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the bell tinkled above the door. Clara glanced over to see who had entered.

“Clara Oswald have I got news for you!” sang Donna gaily. “Where are you? Ah, there you are! Oh, hello Doctor. Clara, David has a mate from school who just moved to town who we think would be PERFECT for you!”

“I think I’ll check out now,” the Doctor said quite abruptly.

“Okay, I’ll meet you at the register,” said Clara.

He nodded sharply and headed over. Clara and Donna watched him walk over. He had an awkward, gangly way of walking that Clara found endearing.

“What an odd man,” said Donna under her breath. 

Clara frowned at her and glanced pointing at where the Doctor was standing, well within earshot..

“Whatever, listen, I’m putting away these leftovers and then we are talking about David and his mate.”

“Oh god,” Clara groaned as she headed over to the register where the Doctor was waiting patiently.

“Sorry, about her. She’s pretty overzealous in helping me find a man. I told her I don’t need one but she seems to think otherwise.”

The Doctor nodded.

“So, this’ll be five pound fifty.”

He fished his wallet out of his pocket and handed Clara over the money. Reaching to take it from him, her fingers brushed lightly over his. He jolted back as if burned.

Clara gracefully ignored his reaction and bagged up his book.

“Have you read it then?” he asked her. Clara looked up at him to see him looking down at the counter, frowning. Clara smiled. 

“I have. It’s very good but very sad.”

“All things worth anything are very good but very sad,” he said looking up at her. Clara studied his face. 

“Well... yes,” said Clara quietly.

He grabbed the bag with the book.

“Bye,” he said quickly.

“Goodbye,” she replied, stunned in a way that she could not immediately explain.


	3. The Third

“What the bloody hell is _wrong_ with me?” said Donna once she had ushered Clara into her apartment.

“What?” said Clara in confusion.

“I. Am. An arse. Here, let me take you into the bosom of my bosom,” said Donna enveloping Clara in a tight hug.

“Donna, I’m fine,” replied Clara.

“Shush you. Let me mother you, alright? I’m sorry, I’ve been an arse about this whole John thing. I’ve been carried away with David and I’ve not been focusing on the very real and very sad feelings my best mate has been having. I’m sorry. Clara, I’m so sorry, my girl.”

The feelings bubbling up inside Clara startled her with the intensity of their arrival. The wave of emotion that had been roiling through her for nearly a month finally crested. She broke down in Donna’s arms as she clung to her. For a time, all she did was cry.

“It’s okay, my darling girl,” said Donna rubbing soothing circles on her back and holding her tighter.

“I… I really loved him,” sobbed Clara.

“I know you did. I know.”

“I just… wasn’t good enough for him,” Clara whispered with her face buried in Donna’s shoulder. Donna pushed her back so she could see her face.

“Clara Oswald. Is that really what you think?”

Clara nodded. Donna took Clara’s face in her hands.

“Well, you’re wrong. You are so ridiculously, unbelievably wrong. You are the kindest, smartest, and best of all people, Clara. And, I wouldn’t just say that. I am brutally honest.”

Clara laughed a little and sniffled.

“It’s going to be alright. I’m going to help you. And if I ever see John Smith again I will rip his bollocks off and present them to you in a box with a bow. Oh, and forget about David’s friend, I’ll tell him you are unavailable. In a really cool way that makes it seem like you are seeing a thousand guys at once. Okay?”

“Okay,” Clara replied with a shaky smile. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Now, let’s pop open a bottle of Chardonnay and get pissed while we watch Pride & Prejudice.”

“Let’s.”

And so they did.

* * *

 

Two and a half hours later saw Clara and Donna sprawled across the couch, both laying on the same pillow, their bodies facing different directions.

“I don’t even think I want to date,” said Clara groggily.

“That makes sense,” replied Donna, blinking her eyes to stay awake.

“Tell everyone I don’t want to date, okay? I just need to be friends.”

“Yeah,” said Donna into the pillow.

“Hey, Donna?”

“Uh-huh?” came the muffled grunt.

“Can we get an espresso machine for the shop? I think it would bring in more business. I can work it and you wouldn’t have to touch it.”

“Sure.”

A moment of silence passed.

“I don’t think The Doctor is rude. I think he’s just very shy.”

“Okay,” said Donna quietly drifting off to sleep.

“Okay,” replied Clara softly.

* * *

 A few days later saw the arrival of the espresso machine. The only trouble being it was completely disassembled.

“Huh. Somehow I thought it would’ve been put together,” said Donna staring at it with a quizzical expression. “So… do you wanna do it? Or should I?”

Clara took a breath and blew it out while looking at the 20 pages of instructions. “I suppose I should since I asked for it.”

“Oh, thank God,” said Donna with relief. “Obviously, I am here for moral support and whatnot. I’ll man the till, yeah?”

“Alright,” said Clara lugging the box to an empty patch of floor near the Historical Fiction section.

Hearing the tinkling of the bell she looked up to see the Doctor enter the shop. Today, he was dressed in plaid pants with a hoodie underneath a Crombie coat. His hair was still a tumble of graying curls. The Doctor looked around before spotting her sitting on the ground. She smiled. He cleared his throat. Clara had not seen him since their small conversation several days ago.

“I thought I scared you off,” she said laughing lightly.

“No,” he said very quietly while fiddling with the sleeve of his coat.

“Alright, Doctor?” said Donna unpacking a box of paperbacks.

He nodded stiffly in her direction.

Clara looked back to the instructions in front of her and rifled through the box. “They may as well have made these instructions in Dutch. I’ve no idea what a SHURflo Accumulator Tank is.”

“Aren’t there any pictures?” called Donna from the Romance section.

“Well, there are but none of these things look like the part I need,” said Clara blowing a piece hair off her face. Silently, she cursed whatever dolt invented espresso.

Sturdy blacks boots entered her vision.

“What’re you working on?” said the Doctor. His soft brogue startled her out of her thoughts and she looked up to see him peering into the box of espresso machine parts.

“Oh! Um, building an espresso machine... Rather poorly,” she said sheepishly tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. The Doctor’s eyes followed the movement.

“Well… uh would you like any help?” he mumbled very quickly.

Clara just looked at him in shock for a moment. Flicking her eyes over to Donna she saw her staring open mouthed at the exchange.

‘Oh my God!” Donna mouthed.

Clara looked back to the Doctor who was shifting awkwardly on his feet.

“Yes, please,” she said giving him a warm smile.

The corner of one side of his mouth quirked up quickly. He lowered himself to the ground next to Clara, being careful to put a good foot between them.

“These are the instructions,” Clara said, passing him the sheet.

He nodded and set to work. The next ten minutes were spent in companionable silence with the occasional word spoken when the Doctor needed a part from Clara. Clara sat back on her heels to watch him as he worked. He was probably in his fifties and he had a very sad countenance. But, suprisingly, he was not unhandsome. Clara thought he might be like a good Scotch. Once, you've developed a taste for it, nothing else ever really comes close. She frowned. Despite all this it was evident that he wasn’t used to socializing. ‘You’re shy,’ thought Clara.

“Sorry?” said the Doctor, stilling his hands and looking down at the machinery in front of him.

‘Oh, Christ. Did I say that out loud?’ she thought.

He was still immobile, clearing waiting for a response from her. Clara took a breath and looked away from him.

“I said, ‘You’re shy,’” she repeated softly.

He said nothing but kept putting the espresso machine together. After a few minutes more, it was done. They picked it up and carried it to the counter.

“There you are,” he said gesturing to it awkwardly and looking over at her.

“Thank you very much. I would not have been able to put it together without you. You’re very handy,” said Clara with a teasing smile.

He blushed lightly and quickly looked away from her.

“Well done you!” sang Donna strolling over to admire it. “How ‘bout a book, on the house for your trouble?”

“No, I was happy to help,” he said looking at Clara.

“Maybe a free espresso when we get it up and running?” said Clara.

“Yes, maybe,” he said softly.

“Right you are,” said Donna giving a salute and going off to help another customer who was wandering aimlessly through the Self-Help section.

“Well...” said Clara when they were left alone.

“I am shy,” he blurted out quite suddenly.

“Oh,” she replied.

“I don’t… really know how to… um…”

“Talk to people?” Clara finished helpfully.

“Yes,” he said nodding.

“Aren’t you a professor?”

“No, I’m-- uh-- I write papers and conduct research. In my house, really.”

Clara nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, you could talk to me. I could help you practice, if you’d like?”

“Practice?” he repeated dumbfounded.

“If you wanted to--”

“Yes-- that is to say-- I would like… that.”

“Okay,” she said smiling softly. “I’m Clara.”

She stuck out her hand. He stared at it for a good deal of time and just when she was rethinking the whole shaking hands thing, his hand reached out and warmly encompassed hers.

“I’m the Doctor.”

“Just, the Doctor?” she teased.

“I-- yes.”

“Okay, Doctor,” she said shaking his hand.

“Okay, Clara,” he said with the smallest of smiles.


	4. The Fourth

Once the espresso machine was up and running, Clara cleaned off the three tiny tables and fashioned herself a little cafe. Over the next several days, the change brought in twice the amount of business as before (Clara was smug, Donna surprised) and Clara got to mess around with latte art in between stocking books. So it happened that the fourth time Clara saw the Doctor, she nearly didn’t see him at all.

“Clara, order for you!” sang Donna gaily.

“Cool, just leave it there, yeah?” said Clara finishing up a cappuccino.

“Cappuccino!” she said not looking up as she placed it on the counter. “Thank you,” said a woman as she grabbed the cup and took a seat at one of the tables. “Sure,” said Clara distractedly.

She set to work on the order that Donna had just left her. It was a latte so as she poured the milk she added the heart she had been practicing to the foam.

“Lat--,” she said looking up and coming face to face with the Doctor.

“Hello,” he said in his gravelly low voice.

“Hello Doctor,” she replied a little breathless. Remembering herself she handed him his latte. “There you are.”

He took it from her gently and looked down at the foam with an unfathomable expression. Clara was puzzled until she remembered that she had drawn a _fucking heart_ in it.

He said nothing for a long minute during which Clara mentally flogged herself.

“It’s art,” she said finally.

“Yes, of course,” he replied a little too quickly.

He lingered near the counter and shifted from foot to foot. Then he took a small sip of his latte.

“How’s your day been so far?” asked Clara.

The Doctor swallowed his sip of latte so quickly that he coughed a little and Clara immediately felt bad.

“Um, uh… fine, yeah,” he responded eventually. “You?” he said looking up and catching her eye.

“Good! Been busy now that we’ve got this up and running,” she said patting the espresso machine affectionately. “And Donna’s boyfriend David is coming around later so we’ve been in a tizzy.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” interjected Donna, startling a customer with her volume.

“Sorry, her _lover_ ,” said Clara leaning over the counter towards the Doctor and giving him a conspiratorial wink.

He huffed out the smallest of laughs and ducked his head.

“Oh, COME OFF IT, Clara!” said Donna groaning loudly.

Clara grinned as she watched the Doctor smile into his latte. He looked back up at her with the smile still on his face. It crinkled the corners of his mouth and softened him.

They looked at each other for a little while.

“What are you doing for the next, oh, ten minutes?” said Clara taking off her apron.

“Um, well nothing-- well, drinking this latte,” he stuttered out.

“You wanna meet me at that table in about a minute?” she said indicating a table by the corner window.

“Why?” he said bluntly.

“We can practice,” Clara elaborated.

“Right, yes,” he stood there unmoving.

“Great!” said Clara brightly.

“So I’ll just uh… see you… over there,” he said awkwardly backing away.

Clara headed over to Donna. “Alright if I take a quick break?”

“Sure. Crowd’s thinned out. Take your time.”

Clara began putting away the coffee supplies and wiping down the machine. Donna glanced over at the Doctor who was casting furtive glances at Clara. When he saw Donna looking he looked quickly down at the table in front of him.

“Funny how I only ever see the Doctor once a month and all of a sudden he’s stopping by almost daily,” she said innocently to Clara.

“Yeah, funny,” Clara replied while putting away the milk.

“I wonder what that’s all about?”

“I expect he’s bored,” said Clara wiping off the counter. “Right, see you in a mo!”

“I think maybe it’s because he has a little crush on our barista,” said Donna under her breath as Clara headed to the Doctor’s table.

 

* * *

 

The Doctor shifted in his seat as Clara sat down.

“So,” said Clara.

“So,” said the Doctor.

“Is the latte okay? I can re-make it. It’s no trouble,” said Clara noticing that his latte remained largely untouched. The heart in the foam was still intact.

“Ah, no. It’s perfect. Thank you, though.”

“Of course,” she replied smiling. “So, do you live around here?”

“I-- well, I live two doors down,” he said clearing his throat.

“Two doors down?” she said stunned. “The house with the blue door?”

“That’s-- that’s the one,” he said looking down at the table.

“That’s my favorite house in the neighborhood! It’s the only interesting one, anyway. Your garden is lovely.”

“Oh,” he said surprised.

“Is it as small as it looks?”

“It’s bigger on the inside,” he said watching the brightness in her face.

“I knew it,” she said grinning. His eyes swept across the gentle dimples in her cheeks. Her grin softened and turned thoughtful.

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“Always?” she said just as quietly.

“Since I left school.”

“Do you ever get lonely?” she whispered.

He looked back down at his latte and took a sip.

“I’m sorry. That was--”

“Do you--” he huffed out an anxious breath. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“Always?” he said just as quietly.

“No, my boyfriend left me recently. We lived together for three years.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Don’t be,” she said gently, “He was a prat.”

A comfortable silence lapsed over them for a minute during which they both gathered their thoughts.

“Is this normally how these conversations tend to go?” he said directly.

Clara laughed. “No, no I’d say this is of the unusual variety.”

“That bad?” he said wincing.

“No, not bad at all. Good. Nice.”

“Clara, I’m really sorry but David’ll be here any minute and I could really use your help,” said Donna from the register.

“Of course! Be right there!” Clara called back. “I should go,” she said turning back to the Doctor but not making an effort to move.

“Yes, of course,” he said with a tinge of disappointment.

“Thank you for the conversation, Doctor.”

“Thank you for exactly the same, Clara.”

She smiled at him one last time and left for the counter. The Doctor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Clara paused, turned around, and quickly came back to the table.

“Maybe same place, same time tomorrow? To continue your education?”

“I could do that,” he said as a slow smile spread over his face.


	5. The Fifth

The next day at precisely 10:00 AM the Doctor entered _The Bookish Companion_. Clara took her break, made them both lattes, and gracefully ignored Donna’s raised eyebrows. The Doctor and Clara spent the next half an hour talking about astrophysics at the little table by the corner window. Well... Clara asked the Doctor about astrophysics and he gamely answered all of her questions.

The Doctor stopped by the next day looking for the new novel by Amy Pond and by accident Clara told him all about her childhood in Blackpool. The Doctor listened.

Then, the following day he stumbled into the shop mumbling something about “browsing” and they talked about punk music for an hour.

The Doctor was like a sunflower, slowly blooming in the warmth of Clara. Day by day, his petals opened and he offered up a little piece of his soul to her.

Clara learned that he loved jelly babies, hated pudding, never really got any sleep, and spent an inordinate amount of time reading in his library.

He learned the exact shade of her eyes, the delicate sound of her laugh, and the depth of her feelings towards her estranged father.

And so passed the next three weeks in the quiet little bookshop in Cardiff. Then one day, things changed.

 

* * *

 

Clara was laughing at something the Doctor had said.

“Doctor, Beethoven did not like arm-wrestling.”

“Yes, he did! Read the biography by Cass. I swear!” he said to Clara’s continuing laughs. “I’m not making it up!”

“No, I believe you. I believe you.”

The tinkling of the bell above the door signalled the arrival of a potential customer.

“David!” said Donna practically vaulting over the counter in her haste to get to him.

“Hello, you!” said David brightly opening his arms for a hug and a kiss. He was a handsome man with brown-hair haphazardly coiffed and a bright smile.

“Clara! How goes it?” he said bustling over and enveloping her and in an impromptu hug. She giggled as he lifted her off the ground. “Right, put me down you flirt!” she laughed.

The Doctor scooted back his chair to stand up to leave. “I should--”

Donna jumped in with an uncanny sense of timing.

“David, this is Clara’s--” Donna paused at the look she was getting from Clara. “Friend. Clara’s friend the Doctor. Doctor, this is my _friend_ David.”

“She says friend but everyone knows we’re dating. Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” said David sticking out his hand.  The Doctor hesitated but after glancing at Clara, shook David’s hand very properly. “Pleasure to meet you, David.”

“You two wanna join us? I thought we’d close up early? Go down the pub?” said Donna with a glint in her eye.

Neither the Doctor, nor Clara knew how to respond.

“I-- uh.”

“Well, he’s probably got a lot to do.”

“I mean, I haven’t but-- well, no I suppose I do.”

“Right, and I--”

David interrupted, “Listen, I invited my mate from school to join us. He should be popping by any minute. That alright? Hilarious guy. He just moved up here. Bad break-up.”

The bell above the shop tinkled and in walked a man wearing a bow tie who looked all too familiar to Clara.

“John,” she said blankly.

“Clara,” he said stopping in his tracks.

She felt faint. Like, she might scream or vomit or collapse at any second. She reached for the sleeve of the Doctor’s coat for something to ground her. He flinched, but allowed the contact.

John and Clara seemed to be unable to do anything else but stare at each other. Had either of them noticed, they would have seen a thunderous look on the Doctor’s face.

“David,” said Donna in a furious whisper. “You did not tell me that your bezzie mate was John Smith. _Clara’s_ John Smith.”

“Clara’s?! He’s Clara’s John Smith?” replied David in frantic tones.

“Yes!!!”

“Well, I didn’t know that! Haven’t seen him in ages. We went to primary school and then he just moved here and we started hanging out again and--”

“Clara, I--” began John.

“I should go. I have to go. I should go. I’m going to go.” said Clara, her hands shaking and her fingers gripping the Doctor’s coat tightly.

“I’ll take you upstairs,” said Donna helplessly rushing forward to help her.

“No, you all go. Enjoy the-- the pub. I--” she broke off, tears forming in her eyes.

“Let’s go John,” said David bundling him out of the store.

“Clara, I can--”

“You can talk later, John,” said David sternly. They left the shop and a ringing silence followed them.

“Clara… I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry,” said Donna, her voice thick with tears.

“It’s okay, have fun,” said Clara numbly.

“I’ll take her,” the Doctor said softly to Donna.

Donna and the Doctor looked at each other for several moments and then Donna nodded. She gave Clara a hug, during which Clara’s arms remained motionless by her sides and after stepping back said, “I’ll be back soon and we’ll talk okay?”

Clara gave her a wobbly nod and then she too was gone.

All Clara could hear in the silence of Donna’s departure was her own ragged breaths. She felt the whisper of a touch on her palm and realized that the Doctor’s fingers were slowly trailing down the skin of her hand. It was so hesitant, so light that Clara felt her spirit calm ever so slightly from the tenderness of it all.

He did not take her hand. Just let his fingers brush hers.

“Where do you live?” he said nearly inaudibly.

“Upstairs,” she said dully.

“Okay,” he replied.

They walked side by side up the back stairs. Their hands brushing with every step and Clara wondered if he had ever taken care of anyone in his life.

They paused in front of her door.

“Do you-- erm… do you have the keys?” he said avoiding looking at her standing next to him with her wide open eyes and her wide open soul.

“Yes,” she said fumbling in her pocket and pulling out the key with unsteady hands. She tried to open the door a few times but she was shaking so badly she couldn’t manage.

“Clara,” came a low voice at her back and she felt him gently pull the key out of her hands and unlock the door. He was so close she could feel the warmth of him. She didn’t even notice she was crying. Once the door was open he placed a feather-light hand at her back and ushered her inside.

Her room was in a right state, but she couldn’t muster up enough energy to care. She felt tired in a deep dark way. Sitting on the edge of her bed she blinked back tears and sleep. The Doctor crouched at her feet and gently undid her trainers. After a time he slipped both of them off and placed them neatly on the ground.

Then he looked up at Clara with the softest, most open expression she had ever seen. It looked like hope. It looked like lattes, and conversations, and stars. It looked an awful lot like--

“Get under the covers, okay?” he murmured. She crawled to the top of the unmade bed and lay with her head on the pillow, still looking at him, still crying. He pulled the duvet over her with agonizing slowness and tucked it snugly around her on all sides.

When he finished tucking her in he looked at her and all of a sudden he was the closest he had ever been to Clara and she could see the depths of his gray, gray eyes.

His mouth was inches from hers. She could taste his breath when she breathed in. He hesitated then reached out to brush a tear off of her cheek, his fingers trailing along her skin.

“Go to sleep,” he said hoarsely.

Then he pushed himself away, the door clicked, and he was gone.


	6. The Sixth

Clara woke to the feeling of fingers carding through her hair. Blinking back sleep she saw Donna sitting on the edge of her bed.

“How long was I out?” Clara croaked out. Her mouth was beyond dry.

“The whole day really. It’s 8 am the next morning.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” said Clara sitting up sharply.

“Why do you think?” said Donna placing a hand on Clara’s shoulder and pushing her back down into the bed. “Are you okay?”

“No. I’m not okay,” said Clara throwing an arm over her face.

“Well, if it brings you any relief, I almost killed the bastard yesterday. David had to hold me back.”

“Did you at least get a hit in?” grunted Clara.

“Of course! Who do you take me for?” Donna said with a small smile. There was a pause in the conversation during which they both tried to think of tactful ways to discuss the elephant in the room.

“Why is he here?” said Clara abruptly.

Donna bit her lip and smoothed out the sheets with her hand. “He moved here.”

Clara felt like a lead weight had been dropped into her stomach. “Did he know I had moved here?”

“Well, how could he know? I’m the only one who knew.”

Clara lowered her arm and looked at Donna with a resigned expression.

“How dare you?” Donna whispered. “Do you really think I would do that to you, Clara? Truly?”

Clara rubbed a hand over her face. “No, of course I don’t. I’m sorry, Donna. I’m all out of sorts. It’s like some sick joke.”

“I know, my darling. But, hey.” She waved a hand lightly in front of Clara’s face to get her attention. “I’ve got your back.”

“Thank God,” said Clara with a weak smile. Donna patted her shoulder affectionately and then stood up.

“Good, glad the air is clear. Well, the _Bastard_ stopped by wanting to talk to you. Told him to sod off. And the Doctor popped by and dropped this off for you.” Donna indicated a worn paperback on Clara’s nightstand.

“Oh God, the Doctor,” Clara groaned. “He must think I’m an absolute prat! He was so nice and I was just ‘uh,’ like a zombie.”

“No, he seemed fairly worried about you actually,” Donna said innocently. “He likes you. I can tell.”

“Well, I like him too,” said Clara fidgeting underneath the covers. “We’re friends.”

“Right…” said Donna with a knowing smile. “That’s my cue! Gonna go man the shop. You don’t have to come in today. Just rest up, cry, talk to me if you like.” She kissed Clara on the cheek. “Ta!”

“Bye Donna.”

When she had left, Clara reached over to her nightstand and picked up the book the Doctor had left for her. She ran her fingers over the embossed cover with a growing sense of curiosity. _TARDIS #1: An Unearthly Child_. She cracked it open and a note slipped out.

 _Clara,_  
_I’m lending you this book in the hopes that it may prove a salve for your current sorrow. I am, after all, a Doctor._  
_-The Doctor_

She smiled.

 

* * *

 

She was just getting into the book when she heard raised voices coming from downstairs. Hurriedly changing she bounded down the stairs and into the shop where she saw Donna having it out with John while a couple customers openly gaped.

“GO I SAID! Are you incapable of basic human decency?” roared Donna.

“And I said I just want to _TALK_ to her!”

“She doesn’t want to _TALK_ to you!”

John’s eyes flicked over to where Clara stood warily surveying the situation.

“Clara,” he said. Donna whipped her head around.

“If I talk to you, will you leave?” said Clara evenly. Donna looked back to John.

“Yes, sure. If that’s what you want,” he replied.

“I mean, leave the city.”

He sighed, “Clara you know I can’t do that.”

She stood biting her bottom lip and thinking. Donna gave her a look of disbelief. “Clara, you can’t possibly--”

“I can handle this, Donna. Promise.” Donna nodded and leaned against the counter giving John an absolutely filthy look.

“Five minutes,” said Clara indicating the cafe. John moved to the table by the corner window. “Not there!” Clara bit out.

“Okay…” replied John carefully. He moved instead to the smallest of the tables and took a seat. Clara stiffly walked over and threw herself in the opposing chair.

“So,” he said.

“So,” said Clara.

“Is she going to be standing there the whole time?” said John glancing at Donna.

“Yes. Problem with that?” spat Clara.

“Yes. No. Look-- let’s just go for honesty, okay? I’m going to be completely honest with you. I did not know you were in Cardiff. Believe me, it was as big a shock to me as it was to you.”

Clara scoffed.

“Believe me. And the second thing I wanted to say to you is that I’m sorry.”

“What?” she said dumbly.

“I’m so sorry about what happened between us and if I could take it all back I would,” he said sincerely.

“How does River feel about that?” said Clara bitterly.

“I’m sure she has no opinion. I left her when you left town.”

“You-- what?” said Clara.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Clara. Things with me and River are over. Never really were. It was always you. And I fucked it up. Really, really fucked it up. But, maybe this is fate, eh? Putting us back in the ring together. I would like to… I don’t know… maybe talk about things. Work it out. Take you out to dinner.”

Clara sat stunned. Her mouth had opened of her own volition and she currently seemed incapable of coherent thought.

“Take me to dinner?” she repeated. “What, all of a sudden you want to make up?”

“Not all of a sudden, Clara. I was wrong from the beginning about everything but you. You’re _right_. You and me, we’re _right_.

He reached his hand over the table and took up one of hers. His skin was soft. The knuckles of his fingers dusted with fine hair. Everything about him was just like she remembered. She looked down at her hands.

“Clara,” he tilted up her chin and caught her eye. “You know how I feel about you. Deep down, you know.”

“How can I trust you?” she whispered.

He brought her hand up to his mouth and lightly kissed her knuckles. “You know me, Clara. The real me.”

The bell above the door tinkled and in walked the Doctor. His lips quirked up in a smile when he saw Clara and his entire expression brightened. It vanished as quickly as it appeared when he saw John kissing her hand.

“Doctor,” said Clara breathlessly.

“I just came to check on you,” he said completely devoid of emotion. His shoulders hunched and the awkwardness that had long plagued him, seeped back into his body. He seemed incapable of looking at anything but their joined hands. “But, I-- I can see that you’re fine.” The Doctor wrenched his gaze away, opened the door, and left.

Clara stared out the window and watched the Doctor’s retreating form. For reasons she couldn’t yet identify, she felt bereft by his absence. Like this fragile and lovely thing, a creeping tendril of something crawling its way up her heart, had suddenly been pulled out at the root.

“What do you say, Clara?” said John, his mouth ghosting over her knuckles. “Just dinner.”

The Doctor reached the blue door of his small house and disappeared inside.

“Just dinner,” she said with a smile that didn’t quite stick.


	7. The Seventh

“What are you doing, Clara?” said Donna leaning against the wall as Clara got ready for dinner with John.

Clara gave a shaky laugh and threw up her hands. “You know, I really have no idea. I truly wish I did. I feel-- I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. Like, I’m up there looking down at some other Clara who’s living some other life.”

“But it’s not some other Clara,” said Donna gently.

Clara sat down and began applying the last of her make-up. “Well… then I’m doing the best I can.”

 

* * *

 

She met John at 7:00 at a nice Indian restaurant in Roath. When she arrived he was already there waving her over excitedly.

“Hi! You look lovely. Wine? Here. So, how have you been? No, maybe that’s not the best thing to ask. How’s Cardiff treating you?”

Clara took a deep swig of her wine and cleared her throat. “Erm, I love Cardiff. I’ve met some wonderful people here. I-- I’m sorry, does this feel strange to you at all?”

John leaned forward in his chair. “A little, but that’s to be expected.” He offered her a winning smile brushing his flopping brown hair out of his eyes.

“What is this, John?” said Clara twirling the stem of her wine glass in her fingers.

“Oh, I don’t know… catching up? Picking up where we left off?”

She frowned into her wine. He seemed to sense her resistance and changed tactics. “I was serious about earlier, Clara. I will do everything I have to to fix this between us.”

“Do you love me?” she said in a rush of words.

He paused and chewed the inside of his cheek. Huffing he said, “Clara, you know how I feel about you.”

“Right…” she said with a long searching look.

“Are you ready to order?” interrupted the waiter.

“Yes, let’s!” said John brightly. “Butter chicken for the lady and chicken tikka masala for me.”

Clara swirled the wine in her glass around, downed it, and stood up.

“Right. Well, I’m off.”

“Off?!” said John flabbergasted. The waiter looked back and forth between them.

“The thing is, John, I’m looking for something a little more extraordinary than that.”

Without a backwards glance, she turned heel and left. On her way out she heard the waiter say, “Just the chicken tikka masala then?” 

 

* * *

 

Clara spent the remainder of the evening blowing through _An Unearthly Child_. It was the story of a madman who stole a box and travelled through time and space. It was gripping, romantic, and on every page she found herself thinking of the tentative friendship she had made with the Doctor. He had obviously been bothered by this morning in the shop and Clara resolved to work things out between them the next time she saw him. He was a good friend, she thought as she fell asleep. A good friend.

The next morning as she was restocking the Romance section she heard the tinkling of the bell. Looking over she saw the Doctor approaching the counter where Donna was working. She smiled.

“Just your order today, Doctor?” said Donna.

He nodded.

“No, latte or anything?” she said cheekily.

He looked at her blankly as she picked up the bag containing his books. Seeing he was planning on beating a hasty retreat, Clara made her way over.

“Hello, Doctor,” she said a tad uncertain.

He startled, having not seen her, and almost dropped the bag of books he had picked up from Donna. He turned to face her.

“Hello, Clara,” he replied looking anywhere but at her.

“Has it already been a month?” she said indicating the bag.

He looked down at the books and back up at her. “Yes.”

“I have something for you. Wait here, okay?” She left without waiting for a reply, taking the stairs to her apartment two at a time, clearly things were weird between them for some reason and Clara feared that he just might leave with no warning. Grabbing the worn paperback she threw herself back down the stairs. He was in the exact same position she left him. Arms full of books, furrow between his brow.

Huffing and puffing she handed him _An Unearthly Child_. He shifted the books to one side to take it from her. He said nothing, just looked down at the cover. Clara realized that like before, when they had first met, she would have to be the one to initiate contact.

“I read it last night. Well, finished reading it. It was incredible. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You’re welcome,” he said softly, finally looking up at her.

“Are you-- are you upset with me, Doctor?” she said haltingly.

“With you? No, no… no,” he stuttered out.

“Okay, it’s just… I really value our friendship. Um, a lot. So…”

“I do too,” he replied quickly.

“Okay,” she said with a smile.

They stood there shuffling like a couple of awkward teenagers and just when Clara was going to once again break the silence, the Doctor beat her to it.

“How’s John?” he bit out, seemingly against his will.

“Oh. Uh, disappointed I expect. He asked me out to dinner yesterday and I left him at the restaurant. It wasn’t very nice but then again he’s not very nice.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor, and Clara had the distinct impression that he was ridiculously pleased by the news. In fact, his whole demeanor changed; his expression brightened and he stood taller by almost two inches.

“Clara, do you-- do you want to maybe get a coffee? Uh, with me. I’d be there too. Um, only if you want though. I know, you just got to the shop and I--”

“Yes! Sure! Usual table in ten?” she said with a grin.

He grinned back, “Yes.”

 

* * *

 

The next hour was spent in animated conversation with the Doctor who was excited to discuss _An Unearthly Child_ with Clara. After dissecting it thoroughly, he offered to let her borrow the second in the series and promised to bring it the next day. They parted with a general feeling of joy and elation that Clara attributed to relief over having made up.

The next day during lattes with the Doctor, a most unexpected thing happened.

“Flower delivery for Clara Oswald,” said a man in a t-shirt and jeans to Donna.

“I’m Clara Oswald,” called Clara with an expression of disbelief from the table in the corner.

The man brought the vase of beautifully arranged flowers to the table in the corner where the Doctor and Clara sat. Placing them in front of Clara, he wished her a good day, then left. Clara was left staring in shock. They were stargazer lilies of the most vibrant colors.

“I’ve never gotten flowers before,” she said quietly and when she looked up the Doctor was staring at her. He quickly looked back down to the table and drummed his fingers.

“Well go on, who are they from?” he said clearing his throat.

With a grin she reached for the note attached to the vase. “I’ll read it out loud then, shall I?”

 _I love thee, I love but thee_  
_With a love that shall not die_  
_Till the sun grows cold_  
_And the stars grow old._

As she finished reading she stared at the note in front of her with a delicate expression. “There’s no name,” she said looking back up to the Doctor.

He was once again staring at her. “A secret admirer then,” he said lowly.

“Yes,” she said returning his intense gaze and studying the familiar lines of a face that had become so dear to her.

“Who’s it from?!” said Donna excitedly rushing over and the Doctor looked down and the moment was broken.


	8. The Eighth

Another flower arrangement arrived at five the next day just as Clara was reorganizing the Self-Help section with the assistance of the Doctor.

“Look at this one, _It’s Your Move: How to Play the Game and Win the Man You Want_. I mean, it’s absurd,” he said while flipping through a copy.

“Yes, quite,” she said laughing.

“I mean, you-- you don’t go for this sort of stuff do you?” he said offhandedly, messing up his curls.

“Have I ever used a Self-Help book to get a man?”

He was silent, staring intently at the book in front of him. Clara turned to look back at the shelf.

“Well, no. Although it might help, I don’t exactly have hordes of men chasing after me, do I?”

“Clara! Another flower delivery for you, love!” called Donna excitedly from the front of the shop. Clara turned to look at the Doctor in surprise.

 

* * *

  

“It has to be a mistake,” said Clara looking down at the delicate bouquet of lilacs. “I mean, who would do this?”

“Do you not like them?” asked the Doctor quietly from her side.

“No, I love them! But, who would send me flowers?”

“And, who knows your _favorite_ flower?” piped up Donna from her other side, “That’s got to be a narrow list, eh?” she said throwing a knowing look at the Doctor. He shifted uncomfortably.

“No name again?” he said gruffly. Clara picked up the card and opened it. She read it silently and then a faint blush began to spread on her cheeks.

“Erm… no name,” she said quickly pocketing the note.

“Oh come on! Read it out!” cried Donna. “That’s alright!” replied Clara attempting to scuttle back into the bookshelves. “Then, I’ll read it!” said Donna rushing forward to try and snatch it from Clara’s pocket. They scuffled and grappled for a good thirty seconds and eventually Donna emerged victorious, the note held aloft in her hand.

“Ha!” she cried blowing a strip of hair out of her face.

“Donna, please,” Clara groaned. She returned to her place standing next to the Doctor who was looking faintly amused. “I can’t look at her,” she said pressing a hand over her face to hide the blush.

“Ahem,” said Donna preparing to read:

_How shall I hold on to my soul, so that it does not touch yours? How shall I lift it gently up over you on to other things? I would so very much like to tuck it away among long lost objects in the dark in some quiet unknown place, somewhere which remains motionless when your depths resound. And yet everything which touches us, you and me, takes us together like a single bow, drawing out from two strings but one voice. On which instrument are we strung? And which violinist holds us in the hand? O sweetest of songs._

Clara slowly lifted her hand from her face and saw Donna looking vaguely surprised at the card in front of her. She quickly glanced to the Doctor next to her and found him staring resolutely at his boots. He looked slightly pale and Clara wondered whether he was coming down with something.

“Well,” said Donna breaking the silence, “It’s a little flowery for my taste,” she said with a baffled smile.

Clara huffed out a laugh. “I think it’s absolutely lovely and I’ll take it back now thank you,” she said crossing over and pulling it out of Donna’s grasp.

“We seem to have embarrassed the poor Doctor over there,” said Donna.

“Ha,” he said lightly, the corner of his mouth curling up as he scuffed his boot on the hardwood floor.

“Who do you think it’s from?” said Donna.

“Well, it could be from anyone really,” said Clara thoughtfully. “It could be from the teller at the bank, or the guy who sells fish at the Wharf, or--”

“Or it could be someone you know,” said Donna helpfully, “Maybe.”

The Doctor chose that moment to knock over a small pile of haphazardly stacked books. Clara bent to help him pick them up.

“Donna! Wanna head to the pub for a pint?” called David cheerfully strolling into the shop with his bright red converse and brown trenchcoat. He spotted them all converged around the bouquet of lilacs and headed over. “Clara? Doctor? A pint? Come on, it can’t hurt.”

“You know I’m game, sweetheart,” said Donna looping her arm through his and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

The Doctor stood up from the ground and extended a hand to Clara to help her up. Upon grabbing his hand, she realized with a jolt that it was very finely made. She frowned at the thought.

“I’m game,” said Clara throwing a grin to the Doctor. “You wouldn’t want to pass up a chance to see me out of my natural habitat, would you?”

“How could I pass that up?” he said with a warm smile. He glanced down and seeing he was still gripping her hand, very suddenly released it. Clara frowned.

“Wonderful!!” said David clapping his hands together, “Allons-y!”

 

* * *

 

**_Three hours later…_ **

_Torchwood_ was not a particularly nice establishment, but for some reason it was absolutely packed with patrons at all hours of the day. Clara and the Doctor sat side by side on ill-made bar stools while David and Donna giggled in the corner over the jukebox. Clara was about to finish her fourth Guinness (decidedly too much for her weak constitution) while the Doctor was nursing his second Scotch. She had slumped sideways in her seat and as a result her side was pressed up against the Doctor’s. He didn’t seem to mind.

“But, like, I’m not totally unlovable,” she was slurring into her pint.

“No,” he agreed, smiling into his glass.

“Flower guy fancies me, right?” she said with a hopeful look.

“It appears so,” he said gently.

“Who do you think it is?” said Clara excitedly scanning the bar. “Donna said it’s probably someone I know. Is it David?!”

The Doctor chuckled, “I think not. He appears taken with your friend.”

“Duh,” said Clara. She swallowed down her Guinness and raised her hand to get the bartender’s attention. The Doctor raised his own long-fingered hand and gently brought hers down. When the bartender arrived Clara’s hand was still covered on the bartop by the Doctor’s own.

“We’ll take our check, please,” said the Doctor smoothly. The bartender nodded and disappeared. Clara immediately forgot that she wanted another drink.

“Do you think it’s Danny?” she said with a gasp.

“Who?” said the Doctor removing his hand from Clara’s to fish out a couple of notes from his wallet.

“Danny Pink! We went on a couple of dates back in London. He said he liked me and then I never called him back.”

“Ah,” said the Doctor placing the notes on the bartop and grasping Clara’s hand again to pull her to her feet. She stumbled slightly but he caught her and righted her again.

“Yeah, but it can’t be him right? I haven’t heard from him in years. Maybe it’s Adrian? He was nice to me. Dunno if he fancied me though.”

“Hmm,” said the Doctor amusedly, grasping Clara’s hand and leading her through the crowd to where David and Donna were stood. He let go of her hand once she was presented before them.

“Bye love,” said Donna giving Clara a hug.

“Donna, do you think flower guy is Adrian?” said Clara animatedly.

“No idea who you’re talking about darling but I’m going to say no.”

“Oh,” said Clara thinking hard.

“Get some sleep, Clara,” said David hugging her tight.

“Right,” said Clara distractedly as the Doctor nodded to David and Donna, took her hand once more, and led her out of the pub. The streets were lovely and dark and they walked in companionable silence for a while, her hand held comfortably in his. After a time, Clara lifted their joined hands and studied them, tracing her free hand over the fine lines of his. He tightened his grip minutely after she drew her fingers over the sensitive skin on the back of his hand. Clara dropped her questing hand to her side and looked up at the Doctor to find him looking back at her. He quickly glanced back to the road.

“Tonight was fun,” she said with a small hiccough.

His lips quirked up in a smile and he darted a glance at her. “Yes, it was.”

“This is nice,” she said indicating their hands.

“Oh,” he said stopping suddenly in the road. “Is it?”

She stopped as well and looked up at him curiously. He seemed, for all intents and purposes, to be nervous. But, the part of Clara’s brain that processed information was currently not computing.

“I like your hair,” she said bluntly.

“Okay,” he said with a bewildered expression.

“And I like your face,” she blurted out.

“Right,” he said swallowing thickly, “Well… I-- uh-- I--”

“Would you rather have one arm or one leg?” wondered Clara.

He laughed and the strange nervous energy was gone. They continued down the road.

“Ah, one arm I think. I’m bad enough on two legs,” he said lightly.

Clara laughed and swung their hands back and forth. Then, the most incredible thought wedged its way into her sluggish mind.

“It could be you... You could be flower man,” she said with a small shock. The man beside her said nothing but had she been on her game and not downed four pints of Guinness, she might have noticed the way he stumbled slightly beside her.

“You… you don’t fancy me, do you?” she said thickly, her heart inexplicably lodged in her throat. He couldn’t seem to be able to look at her and the moment dragged on and on for an ungodly amount of time until--

“No, of course you don’t. Sorry, that was foolish,” she said laughing weakly and for some reason she was terribly disappointed. Beside her the Doctor said nothing but a quick glance to his face confirmed that he was agonizing over something. ‘Fantastic job, Clara. Change the _fucking_ subject!’

“Would you rather have lobster claws for hands or the body of an otter?”

It was a while before he replied and when he did it wasn’t with his usual exuberance. “Probably lobster claws. Could always chop ‘em off and get robot hands.”

“Yeah, good thinking… Doctor, I’m going to ask you something, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied hesitantly.

“Are the flowers from John? Is that why you’re acting all weird? Did you know and maybe… I don’t know, want to spare me?”

“I-- uh, here you are,” he said stopping before the steps of _A Bookish Companion_. She kept ahold of his hand and stood there until he reluctantly met her eye.

“Doctor? It’s okay. I’m not going to start crying. Done that enough to be honest. I know I have this weird thing about John, but, I’d like to know who it is. Once and for all.”

He paused and studied her lovely open face and bright and shining expression and the hopefulness in it struck him deeply.

“Yes,” he said tightly, his entire body radiating tension. “It’s John.”

“Oh,” said Clara filled with another churning wave of disappointment.

“Goodnight Clara,” he said releasing her hand and stepping away back into the road. “Wait!” she cried. And she darted out into the road on a dark dark night on a very quiet street and pressed a fleeting kiss to the side of his cheek. And before he could protest she turned around and rushed through the doors of the shop to smother her sadness into her pillow.


	9. The Ninth

Clara lay in bed for a long while, studying the cracks in her ceiling and letting her thoughts make an absolute mess of things.  Why should she be disappointed it was John?  She should be happy he was trying to properly woo her!  The Doctor was her friend.  Her _friend._ Then she remembered the gentle hold of the Doctor’s hand and the feel of his skin under her lips and she gave up on sleeping entirely.

By the time morning rolled around, she had convinced herself that the Doctor held nothing but platonic feelings for her and would always do so.  So, she resolved not to instigate anything, but to see where this flower business with John led.  When the Doctor strolled into the shop at half past ten she tried to ignore the giddy feeling that his smile awoke in her and issue her normal greeting.

“Oh hi,” she said a tad breathily.

“‘Oh hi’ yourself,” he replied back.

“Sorry, I didn’t sleep good last night,” she said frowning, “Probably the alcohol or the weather or something.  You know it’s been unseasonably warm in Cardiff this year?  They're chalking it up to global warming.  But, you probably know all about global warming.  I mean, I’m assuming.  It just sounds like something you’d know.  Right, do you want a latte?  I think I’ll have one.”  

She threw herself behind the barista counter and began gathering all the necessary components to make their lattes.

“Are you feeling alright, Clara?” said the Doctor with a furrow between his brow.

“What?  Of course I’m feeling alright,” she said rather unconvincingly.

“Well, it’s just that I thought that you might be feeling a little weird over the whole John thing,” he said gently.

She stopped grinding the espresso beans and finally looked up to meet his soft gaze.  “Oh right, that.  I mean, I’ve been thinking about it a little.”

“And by a little you mean…”

“All night,” she said burying her head in her hands.

“I-- I thought you would be, um... happy that it’s John.”

“No!  No, I am.  Delighted, in fact,” she said hurriedly.  “Things are just a little… complicated with John.”

“Right,” he replied thoughtfully.

“Let’s just have a latte, yeah?” she said.

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Their normal routine was off.  Way off.  And Clara knew that it was all due to her unfortunate infatuation with the man sitting opposite her.  She was stirring her latte and he had lapsed into a brooding silence after unsuccessfully trying to draw her into conversation.  It was awkward.  And it was all her fault.

She finally looked up from her latte to see the Doctor frowning deeply at a flower delivery man who had just entered the store.  Clara waited for Donna’s usual ribbing and then realized that it was Thursday.  Her day off.  She sighed and trudged her way to the entrance.

“Flower delivery for--”

“Yes, yes that’s me,” she said irritably signing for it.

And oh was it lovely.  Of course.  It was a bright and beautiful bouquet of Gerber daisies.  She brought it back to the table she shared with the Doctor and slammed the vase down a tad bit too hard.  The Doctor frowned further.

“Clara--” he began.

“Let’s read the card shall we?” she said.

_I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times... In life after life, in age after age, forever._

_My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs, That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms, In life after life, in age after age, forever._

“Well, that’s absolutely beautiful,” she said thickly through the feeling of tears pricking at the backs of her eyes.  She looked up and caught the Doctor’s gaze.  He looked absolutely miserable.  She was miserable that he was miserable.  ‘Fix this,’ she told herself.

“I’m sorry I’m in a funk today,” she said.

“No, don’t apologize.  You have nothing to apologize for,” he said gruffly waving his hand.

“Sometimes, I just get in moods.  And as my best friend you’ll be subject to them from time to time,” she said with a small smile.  ‘Friend, friend, _friend_ ,’ she repeated in her head.

He seemed to have nothing to say to that and for a time he just looked at her and worked his jaw.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “I’ve not… um… had any sort of experience being a friend.  But, um, I certainly think I can deal with any-- any moods you want to throw at me,” he said softly.

She laughed.  “Are you sure about that?  I’m absolutely mental.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said fixing her with a thoughtful gaze that warmed her from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head.  She looked away.

“Do you think I should call John?  About the flowers?” she said chewing her lip.

“I-- well you could but maybe--”

“Maybe?” she said.

“Uh, I don’t know where I was going with that,” he said sheepishly.

“He said he loves me.  In the notes.”

“Yes.  He did say that didn’t he?”  The Doctor’s eyes slid down to the bottom lip she was worrying with her teeth.  She released it and it fell back into place.  He slowly moved his gaze to her face.  Something.  Some indefinable something made her hold her breath for an interminable time.

“Would you-- rather always have to say everything on your mind or never be able to speak again?” he asked.

The rest of their conversation passed amiably and comfortably.  If they were like this, safe and friendly, Clara could pretend that she didn’t like the way his hair seemed to have a life of it’s own, that she didn’t like the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, that she didn’t like how awkward he was, that she didn’t like him.

Because she didn’t.  They were friends.

 

* * *

 

Later that night she sat in her room and did something she hadn’t done in a long while.  She reached under her creaky bed and pulled out her childhood photo album.  She flicked through picture after picture of young Clara, smiling with her arms thrown around her mother.  Her mother.  Beautiful, kind, Ellie Oswald, now only existing in memory.  She paused as she reached the last photo.  It was one of her mother and father at their wedding.  ‘ _They_ had been in love,’ thought Clara.  

She thought of John and tried to picture how they would look in their wedding picture, and she found that she couldn’t.  And then she thought of the Doctor.  Warm, thoughtful Doctor.  And at the thought of him she let herself enjoy the thought of what a life with him might be like.

Which is how she ended up at his blue door at midnight.  Donna was out with David still, and Clara needed to get ahold of herself.  John _loved_ her.  The Doctor did not.  If she saw him and got slapped in the face with the reality of their situation, she could finally end this crush.  She was convinced of it.  Then, she could fully embrace this thing with John and get some sleep.  She knocked on the door and waited.

After, a moment he opened it.  His hair was thoroughly mussed, he was wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants, and he looked absolutely shocked to see her standing there.

“Clara,” he said dumbly.

“Hi.  I just wanted to…  I just wanted you…” she trailed off.  This was dumb.  She was dumb.  He was lovely.

He tentatively placed a hand on her shoulder and all of sudden she began sobbing.  Heaving, hiccoughing sobs that tore out of her with a ferocity that surprised both of them.  She felt his hand tugging her arm and she stumbled into his house.  The blur of her tears making her unable to clearly see her surroundings.  He sat her on the couch and disappeared for a moment.  When he returned it was with a boxes of tissues which she grabbed from him blindly and buried her face in.  He sat next to her.

“Clara, Clara,” he said gently trying to get her attention.  But, she couldn’t look at him.  Because if she did she’d have to confront the fact that she did not simply like this strange man.  She _loved_ him.  

He slowly and carefully drew an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the warmth of his chest.  Her sobs slowed and eventually stopped as she buried her face in his t-shirt and breathed in the heady scent of him.  The hand he had placed on her back was trembling a little she noticed dimly, but she did not pay it much mind.  For a long while after she stopped crying, neither of them moved.  He was completely still and tense beneath her and they were awkwardly situated, but Clara felt safe and she hadn’t felt safe in a long time.

She slowly pulled away from him and the hand he had placed on her back was quickly snatched away.  She did not look at him as she adjusted on the couch.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he said quietly.

“No.  Maybe some other time.  Thank you,” she said softly.

“Okay,” he replied.

They sat in silence.

“I…” she paused and could feel him turn to look at her from where he was situated at her side.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.  Could I--  Would you mind--”

“Do you want to stay here?” he said hoarsely.

“Well-- I-- not if it’s going to be an imposition--”

“It’s not,” he said hurriedly.  He sprang up from the couch beside her.  “You… you can sleep in my bed and-- and I’ll take the couch.  Do you need any tea?  Should I make tea?”  He disappeared into the kitchen and while he was puttering away she had a look at her surroundings.  She was on a cozy, if worn, leather couch in what appeared to be a living room.  Wall to wall was stuffed with books and it was clear from the general air of neglect that he was not used to entertaining.  Strange objects and charts were strewn around with haphazard chaos.  It was lived-in and Clara absolutely loved everything about it.

He returned with two steaming mugs.  “I-- you like Chamomile, right?  That’s what I have.  I remember you saying that you liked it.  So, I bought it just--” he cut off abruptly.

‘Just in case of _her_ ,’ she thought.  A watery smile filled her face.  He ducked his head to look at his tea.

“It’s my favorite,” she said.

“I know,” he replied softly.

They drank their mugs in the silence of his cozy home and when they were finished they both looked to one another.

“Well…” he said standing up, “I’ll, uh, show you where to sleep."  He led her through several winding corridors (the house really was bigger on the inside) and at last stopped in front of an open door.  

“This is-- well-- my room.  And there’s a bathroom through here too if you need one.”

“Thank you,” she said meeting his eyes at last.

“You’re welcome,” he said, “Good night.”  He nodded stiffly and turned to leave.

“This is going to sound crazy and you can absolutely say no if you don’t want to… but, could you just stay here until I fall asleep?”

“Stay,” he said dully.  She nodded slowly.  He said nothing but walked through the door after her when she finally turned to enter the room.  While she climbed into the bed and settled herself under the covers he stood and stared at a painting hanging on the wall.

“You can-- You can lay on the bed, too.  I mean, you don’t have to stand there,” she said shyly peeking over the top of the duvet.  He heaved out a shaking breath and took slow steps to the other side of the bed.  He sat down on top of the covers very softly so as not to move her and stretched out his long legs to settle himself almost as far away from her as possible.  Once settled, the Doctor brooded up at the ceiling.  Clara sighed and switched off the lights next to her.  They were plunged into darkness.

“You’re going to fall off of the bed.  I’m not contagious.  I promise,” she grumbled.

She felt rather than saw him scoot closer to her.  They were maybe a foot apart but it was the most intimate position they had ever found themselves in.  

“Get under the covers.  It’s cold in here,” she said quietly.  It was a lie.  The room couldn’t be colder than a balmy day outside.

He said nothing and she almost thought he hadn’t heard her until she felt the covers lift up and him situate himself under them.  She turned to face him and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could make out his scowl.

“Your face is going to freeze like that one of these days,” she whispered.

He turned to look at her and his face softened, “Who says it hasn’t?” he replied gruffly.  She smiled and let out a quiet laugh.  His lips quirked up and he slowly turned to face her on his pillow.  They looked at one another in silence for a while.  She scooted closer to the warmth he was emanating and wondered what he would do if she moved her head to his pillow.  

“Your eyes are very wide,” he whispered.  “I’ve been crying,” she whispered back.  A lazy smile filled his face.  “I don’t think that’s it,” he said.  She hit him lightly with her hand and then let it rest on his arm, right below the cuff of his t-shirt.  His skin was so so warm.  Silence filled the room again.

“I like your eyes,” he whispered very very quietly.  She traced her fingers lightly on the skin of his arm.  “Oh,” she whispered back, hardly daring to breathe.  He said nothing further and she had almost thought he had fallen asleep until she felt his fingers brush a lock of hair out of her face and tuck it behind her ear.  He let his fingers drag along her skin as he moved his hand away.

“Have you ever been in love?” she breathed out.  She saw his eyes trace over every part of her face as she moved her fingers up and down the skin of his arm.  This close to him she could see a myriad of emotions flicker across his features.  If he leaned forward even a couple inches, their lips would touch.  She moved her hand up his arm to stroke his curls.  He shuddered and closed his eyes.

“Just once,” he said.

“Who with?” she said running her nails along his scalp.  His eyes lazily blinked open and he just looked at her.  He didn’t answer and after the silence had stretched too long, Clara found herself succumbing to a deep and dreamless sleep.


	10. The Tenth

When she awoke in the morning she had absolutely no idea where she was.  It was a similar feeling to when she was a girl and she’d fallen asleep on the couch in the living room and somewhere in the middle of the night her father had carried her to bed.  Except, she was in the _Doctor’s_ bed… and he was nowhere to be found. Tampering down her rising panic she threw back the covers and tentatively stepped out of the door of his bedroom.

“Hello?” she called tentatively.  There was no reply, but she heard noises coming from a room off one of the corridors.  She followed the sounds and found herself in a bright, open kitchen where the Doctor was currently chopping up vegetables and humming.  He didn’t seem to notice her enter so she leaned against the doorframe and studied him.

He was wearing the holey jumper that he favored.  His hair was overlong, his frame was lanky, and he wasn’t necessarily a handsome man, but--

He turned around to grab something and stopped abruptly upon seeing her.  His gaze quickly swept over her before meeting her eyes.

She felt… _something_.

“Hello,” she said softly.

“Hello,” he rushed out.  He cleared his throat and turned back to his cooking.  She walked over to join him, standing closely.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he said.  His voice was gravelly in the morning, she noted.

“No,” she smiled.

“I don’t um...” he trailed off nervously.

“Sleep a lot?” she supplied, “I remember you telling me.”

He nodded and focused completely on the task in front of him.

“Did you sleep good?” he mumbled.

“Yes.  Very good, thank you.”

He said nothing further.

“What’re you making?” she said peering at the chopped vegetables.

“Oh… omelettes,” he stepped away to retrieve eggs from the fridge.  He paused before turning around to face her, his gaze on the carton.  “Do you--  uh--  do you like omelettes,” he stuttered out.

‘Oh,’ she thought.  ‘It’s for me.’

“Yes, I love them,” she said smiling softly.

He nodded and quirked a smile at her before looking back down at the carton.  He returned to her side and began the very serious business of whisking their eggs.  She studied his profile while he did so.  His brow was furrowed as he worked.

He lit the burner and poured the mixture in.  The kitchen was quiet and clean and she could hear a clock ticking in the background.

“Do you make omelettes for all the girls?” she teased.

“There aren’t any girls,” he said simply.  He reached around her to grab a spatula and for a very brief moment they were pressed together.  He pulled back and flipped the omelettes.

“Can I help?” she said weakly.

“Oh, uh… there’s coffee.  Would you like coffee?  We could have coffee.  If you’re not busy.  You don’t have to stay.”

“Do you want me to stay?” she said catching his eyes.  His warm, grey eyes.

“Yes,” he said quickly.

“Well, good.  I do too,” she glanced to the pan behind him, “But, if you burn my omelette I’m never talking to you again,” she said with a grin.

“Perish the thought,” he said smiling back.

 

* * *

 

Breakfast was a quiet affair.  The Doctor kept shooting her looks when he thought she wasn’t looking which she studiously ignored.  

“This is really good!” she said.

“Is it?” he said, pausing while eating and staring at his plate in disbelief.

She laughed.  “Yes.  You can cook!  We may get you a girlfriend, yet,” she teased.

The sip of water that he had been taking sloshed out of his mouth and onto his jumper.  Embarrassed, he hurriedly patted it dry with his napkin.

“Do you think I need a girlfriend?” he said looking down at the table.

‘Yes!  Me!  ME!’ her unhelpful brain supplied.

“I…

When she looked up again he was openly staring at her.  She stared back.  He dragged his heavy gaze across her hair, her eyes, her lips.  Her phone went off in her pocket.

“Shit,” she said fumbling on getting it out.  When she looked back the Doctor had gone back to eating.  “Hello?” she said.  

“Thank God!  Thought you had gotten abducted or something.  You know, you might leave a note next time?”

“Donna!  Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said rubbing a hand over her face.

“You alright?  Where are you?”

Clara glanced at the Doctor.  He felt her looking and looked up from his coffee.  She held his gaze.

“I’m at the Doctor’s.”

“Oh?   _Oh!_  Did you two?!  Oh my God, Clara, did you sleep with him?” Donna shrieked excitedly.

“No!  I have to go, I’m very busy and important.  Bye,” she said hanging up abruptly and stuffing the phone back in her pocket.  “That was Donna,” she added unnecessarily.

“Oh right.  You should probably be getting back,” he said reluctantly.

“Yes,” she said with a thick sense of disappointment, “You know how she is.  She can’t be arsed to do anything without me, now I’m here.”

He smiled softly and pushed around the food on his plate.

“And are you liking Cardiff?” he said.

“Yes,” she said watching his long fingers play with his fork.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said abruptly, standing up and pushing back his chair.

Clara couldn’t follow the sudden changing of his moods and was left to follow in his wake, terribly confused.

 

* * *

 

For all his rush to leave the house the walk to _The Bookish Companion_ was slow and ambling.  The Doctor had his hands stuffed in his pockets while Clara chewed furiously at her lip.  After a couple houses the Doctor let out a heavy breath and turned to face her.

“I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“Like what?” said Clara continuing to bite her lip.

“This,” he said gesturing awkwardly at himself.

“I don’t--”

“I don’t bring back girls, Clara.  I don’t know any girls.  I’ve had one girlfriend in my entire life.  I loved her and she didn’t love me and I didn’t try again.   It’s very-- I’m not equipped to handle this situation.”

“Okay.  That’s okay.  What situation?”

He ran a shaking hand through his hair and moved closer to her.  “I don’t have any friends, Clara.  I don’t know how to--  You’re my only friend.  And you’re--”  He stopped abruptly.  She realized how very close they had become all of a sudden.

“I’m what?” she repeated.

She glanced up to see him looking back down at her.  He seemed caught in her gaze and visibly struggling for words.

"Different," he said finally.

“I’m just not sure what we’re talking about,” she said kindly.

“I don’t want to be your friend, Clara,” he said solemnly.

“Oh,” she said as an icy bolt of dread slid it's way down her stomach.

And it all evaporated when he reached up with trembling fingers to gently pull her bottom lip free from her teeth.  He smoothed over it with the pad of his thumb and every single one of her senses focused in on that small movement.

“You’re going to hurt yourself one of these days,” he breathed out.  

“Doctor, I don’t understand,” she said.

He sighed, stepped back, and fixed her with a sad little smile.

“Have a nice day, Clara, okay?”

Then he left her on the steps and Clara felt that things couldn't  _possibly_ get more complicated.


	11. The Eleventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter. Angst. Don't worry, okay?

“Clara!  Good morning my little dove!  Tell me everything,” called Donna right as Clara hurried through the shop doors.  “Later, Donna.  I have to do something,” Clara replied anxiously.

“Darling, are you alright?”  Donna came from behind the counter and attempted to intercept Clara as she hurried to her room.  “I’m fine.  Absolutely fine.  Why wouldn’t I be fine?” she said rather unconvincingly.

“Clara…”

“Just give me a minute, okay?” she said turning at the bottom of the stairs, “And then we’ll talk.”

“Okay.  Okay,” said Donna a little worriedly.

Clara bolted up the stairs three at a time and wrenched open her door.  Slamming it closed a little too hard she leaned up against it and took great heaving breaths.

_“Have you ever been in love?” she breathed out._

_“Just once,” he said._

_“I’ve had one girlfriend in my entire life.  I loved her and she didn’t love me and I didn’t try again.”_

‘So the Doctor very definitely did not love her.  That was fine.  Appropriate really,’ she tried to tell her aching chest.  But the problem, the very small problem that remained, was that she definitely, without a doubt, loved him.  “I’m fine.  I’m fine.  I’m fine,” she said fighting back tears.

_“I don’t want to be your friend, Clara,” the Doctor said solemnly._

She slid down the door and landed in a heap at the bottom.  ‘He didn’t want her around anymore,’ she thought bleakly.

Or…

_“I like your eyes,” he whispered very very quietly._

She was distracted from her musing by a tentative knock on her door.  “I’m sorry love, I don’t mean to bother you, but there’s another one of those bloody delivery men sat out here for you,” called Donna.  Clara scrubbed a hand over her face then stood up and opened the door.

“Let’s get this over with,” she said dully.  Donna put a hand on her shoulder and steered her down the stairs.  “Boy troubles?” she said.

“How’d you know?” said Clara choking out a laugh.

“You are looking at the Queen of Boy Troubles.  So, which one?  John or the Doctor?” she replied.  Clara’s eyes fell on the beautiful bouquet of red roses that the delivery man was holding.  “Both,” she sighed.

“Sign here,” said the delivery man brusquely.  Clara scribbled out a signature and took the bouquet from him.  He left the store with a tinkling of the bell.  She could feel Donna staring at her as she held the flowers delicately in her hands.  For some reason, she didn’t want to know what John had written.  It made things infinitely more difficult for her.  She set the flowers on the table and reached for the card with shaky hands.

_If I could be any part of you, I’d be your tears. To be conceived in your heart, born in your eyes, live on your cheeks, and die on your lips._

“This has to stop,” she muttered under her breath.  “What’s wrong with it?” said Donna.  “Nothing.  Everything,” Clara replied fishing out her phone.

“What’re you doing?” said Donna suspiciously.

“Calling John.”

“Why on Earth would you do that?” she said incredulously.

“Because we need to talk about this flower business.  It’s gone on long enough,” said a resigned Clara.  She began dialing.

“Oh but Clara, you don’t think that…” Donna trailed off when it was evident Clara wasn’t listening.  “You know what?  It’s probably best if I just stay out of this,” she said.

“Hmm?” said Clara distractedly.

“Nothing darling,” said Donna giving her a brief hug and then heading back into the stacks.  “Going to watch a movie in the backroom, yeah?” she called over her shoulder.

“Hello?” said John.

“Can we meet?” said Clara shakily.

“Clara?”

“Are you free to meet?” she replied.

“Sure.  I’ll be at the bookshop in twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” she said and disconnected.

 

* * *

 

He arrived twenty-two minutes later wearing his customary bow-tie and smirk.  Clara had been pacing precisely twenty-one minutes and only sat down at a table when she saw him strolling up to the door.  She opted for a casual smile to offset the nearly debilitating drumming of her heart.

“Clara Oswald,” he said strolling over to her table and flinging himself in a seat, “Not going to run out on me again are you?”

“We need to talk about this,” she said thrusting the vase of roses in front of him.

“Okay…” he said with a confused smile.

“I’m in love with someone else,” she said hurriedly.

“Oh,” he said, clearly shocked.

“A--and the flowers have been lovely and absolutely beautiful but this has to stop.”

“Flowers?” he said with a puzzled look.

“Yes, the flowers you’ve been sending me,” she said .

“Listen, Clara I haven’t sent you any flowers.  But, they’re very nice.”

“What?” she said, “You… haven’t sent me any flowers?”

“No,” he said as if speaking to a child, “I haven’t.  What’s this about?”

Clara stood up as if in a trance and looked at the card again.

_If I could be any part of you, I’d be your tears. To be conceived in your heart, born in your eyes, live on your cheeks, and die on your lips._

_He slowly and carefully drew an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the warmth of his chest.  Her sobs slowed and eventually stopped as she buried her face in his t-shirt and breathed in the heady scent of him._

_Then he looked up at Clara with the softest, most open expression she had ever seen._

_He let his fingers drag along her skin as he moved his hand away._

_He reached up with trembling fingers to gently pull her bottom lip free from her teeth._

“Oh God,” said Clara quietly.

“What?” said John becoming more and more confused.

“I have to go.  Now, in fact.  So, you can show yourself out, right?” she said in a daze.

He stood up angrily.  “Fine!  You know what?  I will leave.  But, you can bloody well count on never seeing me again.   _This_ is done, yeah?!”  

“Finally!” called Donna from the backroom.

Clara said nothing before she turned heel and left him standing there gobsmacked.

 

* * *

 

The Doctor answered after three knocks and from the brief annoyed expression on his face it was clear he had been reading.  The look vanished upon seeing Clara at his door.

“Long time no see,” he said with a warm smile.

“It was you,” she said with a trembling voice.

The smile instantly disappeared from his face and when he finally replied his voice betrayed no emotion, “What?”

“You’re flower man,” she said with tears brimming in her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Clara,” he said recovering himself and attempting to scoff.

“Stop.  Stop it.  Don’t lie.  It’s you,” she said.

He said nothing but he looked stricken and gutted and so so sad.  “What do you want me to say, Clara?”

“Why would you even do that?” Clara choked out, tears falling down her face.  “Why would you make me think it was him?”

The Doctor paused and then spoke very flatly in a manner that sounded much rehearsed, “I’m deeply deeply sorry that you’re hurt, Clara.  I’m sure it came as a terrible disappointment to learn that it wasn’t-- wasn’t John and I-- I-- regret causing you pain.  I understand if you wish to sever our acquaintance, of course.  I can’t imagine how you must feel upon realizing that the dashing young man you thought was seeking your affections was instead… well… me.”

“No, it wasn’t a--”

“I understand now what a terrible, terrible mistake I’ve made with you and I only hope that in time you can forgive me.  I wish you the best,” he said quietly not meeting her eyes.

“What do you want?  Doctor, what do you want?”

He huffed out a dark laugh, “A million pounds and a nap.”

“Don’t joke.  Not now.  Please.  Please, Doctor.”

He took a long moment and when he finally spoke it was like sandpaper on an open wound.  “Go home.”

“What’re you doing?” she sobbed.

“Goodbye, Clara,” he said and then he closed the door and she was left on his porch, alone again.


	12. The Twelfth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank each and every one of you for embracing me and this fic with as much warmth and love as you have. This was my first and it's truly been an incredible honor. All the best.

She returned to _The Bookish Companion_ and upon stumbling over the threshold, collapsed into the outstretched arms of Donna who had an almost premonitory sense of timing.  She told her everything, started at the beginning and didn’t stop until hours had stretched on and it was dark outside.  Donna knew the flowers were from the Doctor (of course she had) but she hadn’t wanted to interfere.

“Well, if he didn’t leap over the threshold and snog the life out of you he’s clearly the most dreadful cur,” she said in what was meant to be a soothing manner.

Clara burst into a fresh wave of tears.  “I didn’t even tell him how I felt,” she managed.

“Well… uh… still!” said Donna indignantly.  “I mean it’s obvious!”

“Oh God, I’m obvious,” wailed Clara.

“No, you’re not.  Only to me.  To him, it’s probably very confusing.  Men are like that,” she said rubbing Clara’s back.  

“Yeah?” said Clara.

“Yeah.  Now come on.  You’ll stay at my place and I’ll snuggle you back to health, okay?”

“Okay,” said Clara.

 

* * *

  

The next two weeks passed without incident.  Clara spent all of her available time with Donna and David who were exceedingly good at getting her mind off of _him._ He didn’t show up and Clara resigned herself to the fact that it was her lot in life to love impossible men.  She vowed to give them up entirely.  And to burn the science fiction section.  Yes, that would do.

One evening, when Donna and David were on a date and Clara was closing up, the impossible happened.

“We’re closed,” called Clara heaving a tome onto a shelf.

“Clara,” came a deep voice.

She whipped around and there he was.  The Doctor.  Looking haggard and very very nervous.

“Hello.  We’re closing,” she said turning around to escape somewhere.   _Anywhere._

She felt a tug on the sleeve of her coat.  “Wait,” he said hoarsely.  Clara stopped walking but did not turn around.  She felt more than heard him take slow steps up to her until they were no more than a few inches apart.  His breath was hot on her neck and his hand was shaking.

“Leave me alone,” she said flatly.

“You,” he breathed out making the hairs on the back of Clara’s neck stand up.  “You asked me what I wanted…  I just want you.  That’s all.”

Clara let out a shuddering breath.  His trembling hand was still light on Clara’s sleeve and except for his heavy breathing he was unmoving.  If she tugged her arm away he would provide no resistance.  She could leave.  She could ignore his words and she felt confident that he would never bring it up again.

Clara Oswin Oswald did none of those things.  Instead she turned around slowly so as not to frighten him.  Turned around so that she could see his sad grey eyes and the distant star of hope that was still left in them.

He slowly let go of her coat.  They were standing nearly toe to toe.  If she took a deep breath her chest would brush his.  

“Just me?” she repeated and somehow the words held an ocean of feeling.

“Just you,” he said.  She placed a hand on his pounding heart and felt the warmth of him through his sweater.  Standing up on the tips of her toes she tilted her head until her lips were a hairsbreadth away from his.  Then she stilled.  This last great milestone was up to him.  His entire body was tense and strumming with energy.  Maybe he hadn’t meant it--  Maybe--

He closed the distance and their lips sealed in a sweet brush of lips.  Nothing more for a long long moment.  Just the unimaginable softness of his mouth pressed to hers.  And then the Doctor let out an unsteady breath and she tangled her hand in his sweater and he reached up a trembling arm to draw it around her shoulders to bring her in closer.  Clara tentatively traced the seal of his lips with her tongue and was both shocked and delighted when he immediately granted her access.  He kissed her slowly and deeply, like he was committing her every cell to memory, like every atom of her mouth required great study.  

She moved one hand up his chest to tangle in his hair.  When her nails scratched lightly on his scalp he let out an involuntary shudder and moved his other hand (which had previously been hanging limp by his side) to gently cradle her face.

After an interminable time, they broke apart with heaving breaths.  “I-- I hope that was okay.  I’m not-- I haven’t-- uh-- kissed a lot of people.”

She smiled softly and leaned in to kiss him again.  He sighed through his nose.  When she pulled back he still had his eyes closed.  “I think you’re perfect,” she said simply.  His eyes fluttered open and he fixed her with a vulnerable, soft expression.  Just, like the one he had given her all those months ago at the foot of her bed.  Soul wrenching, deep, and furious love.

“Oh, Clara Oswald,” he said brokenly.

“I wanted it to be you.  I wanted it to be you so desperately,” she choked out.

He let out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh.  “I love you,” he said on an exhale and even after all of it he still looked unsure and hesitant.

She smiled and the brightness of it was blinding.  “And I love you,” she said leaning her forehead against his.  

“That was easy,” he said shakily.  They laughed and then he caught her mouth again.  Dragging his lips over hers again and again with a fervor that made her dizzy.  His hands slid down to rest at the small of her back, pulling her even more tightly to him.

The door banged open and Donna and David came in chatting animatedly.  Clara and the Doctor broke apart guiltily, but apparently not quickly enough.

“Oh!” said Donna in delighted surprise.

“Well, what do we have here?” said David with a teasing grin.  Clara snuck a glance at the Doctor.  His lips were swollen, his hair was a mess, and he was blushing deeply.

“Oy,” said Donna hitting David sharply in the ribs.

“Ow,” he said catching his side.

“Let’s go do that thing,” she said with a pointed look.

“Yes, the important thing,” he said catching on, “Bye, all!”  Donna threw an unsubtle thumbs-up in Clara’s direction and then they were gone.

Clara threaded her hand through the Doctor’s.  He looked down at her and smiled.

“I’m glad you came back,” she said shyly.

“As am I.  I’m sorry.  I-- I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“Ah, well I did.  Do,” she said as he stroked his thumb over the skin of her hand.  “So, are you my boyfriend now?” she said cheekily.

“Clara, I’m not your boyfriend,” he said seriously, tugging her into his arms.  She leaned her head on his fluttering heart and smiled.

“How about partner?”

“No,” he laughed and she felt it through his chest.

“Lover?”

“Hmm…” he said lowly and she felt a warm tingle in the pit of her stomach.

“Guy?”

He groaned.  “Fine, fine, boyfriend it is.  It just sounds so…”

“Unsatisfying?” she finished.

“Yes,” he said tilting her chin up with his hand.  “I-- You’re it for me, Clara.  And, I-- well-- just want to be honest with you, I suppose.”

“Husband?” she said quietly, leaning in and brushing her lips softly across this.

“I like the sound of that,” he said smiling and then he kissed her and all was quiet.

 

* * *

 

Clara Oswald woke up in her creaky twin bed to the feeling of feather-light kisses being placed along her collarbone. She smiled and her eyes flickered open to see the Doctor pressed up next to her, reverently kissing the bare skin he could reach.  He dragged his lips up her neck, tickled her ear, moved across her cheek, and finally captured her mouth in an achingly gentle kiss.

“Good morning,” she said when he pulled away.

“Good morning, Clara Oswald,” he said with a lazy grin.  He pulled her closer to him and lay his head between her breasts.  She played with his curls while remembering (with a blush) the rather passionate night they had had.

“What’re you thinking about?” he said and his warm breath tickled her chest.

“You,” she said gently.

“Funny, I was thinking about you,” he said pulling his head up and grinning at her.  She placed her hand on his cheek.  His grin faded and his expression turned vulnerable.  “But, then again, I’ve always been thinking about you.”

“How long?” she said stroking his cheek.

“Since I saw you,” he replied simply.

“When I talked with you about _Angels Take Manhattan_?” she said thinking back.

“No, it was very early in the morning.”

“When I was blabbering?” she said incredulously, “I’d only just woken up.”

“I loved you very suddenly,” he said quite seriously, “That’s why I came back.  I’d never felt that with _anyone_.  It just so happens that in all my life you’re the only thing I’ve ever loved.”

“Oh,” she said softly and a warm tear slipped down her face.  He stopped it with his thumb.

“Don’t cry, Clara Oswald.  Don’t cry.  I don’t ever want to see you sad.”

“I’m happy.  You make me very happy,” she said cupping his face and pulling him down for a kiss.

They broke apart and he placed his head next to hers on her pillow.  They lay facing each other for a few moments.

"What's your name?" she said.

"John Smith," he replied after a moment.

"No, it's not!" she said hitting him lightly.

"Yes, it is!" he said laughing.  "Can you understand now why I wouldn't want to tell you that?"

"So, John Smith was sending me flowers and love poems after all?"

"Yes, he was," he said gently.

There was peaceful silence for a little while.

“Do you live alone?” Clara said quietly.

“Yes,” he replied softly.

“Always?”

“Since I left school.  But, I expect that will change soon,” he said.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she said smiling.

“No.  Not anymore,” he said with a slow grin.

 

* * *

 

Clara Oswin Oswald lived a quiet life.

Leaving Donna with the flat, her workplace, and a full heart, Clara packed up and moved her life to the little house with the blue door and the quiet man who loved her.  And life was quiet.

For a very long while.


End file.
